Secret Valentine
by Golden Boots
Summary: Carol has a secret. So does Daryl. His secret is he's witnessed her secret and now he can't stop thinking about it. Set around "Chupacabra", Season 2. Rated M for sexual content, this is an unashamedly romantic story for all those curious about the Daryl/Carol dynamic. Icon credit: havers on LJ DISCLAIMER: I don't own the rights to characters or plots from "The Walking Dead".
1. The Cabin

**Secret Valentine**

**The Cabin**

Tracks. They shouldn't be there. They most definitely had not been there the day before. This was his neck of the woods, beyond the ravine, where the trees thinned out so tracking became a whole bunch easier and the squirrels were so abundant, it made his stomach rumble just to think of the place. If anything other than a squirrel had come through here, it was fucking trespassing.

So who or what had made these tracks? Daryl squatted in the leaf litter and studied them. They meandered the way walker tracks meandered but there had been no shuffling. Whoever had made them had picked up their feet between steps. The footprints themselves showed the maker had small feet and a longish stride. A woman, then. Suddenly, the tracks showed she had decided exactly where she was going. They led in a straight line up a slope to the crest of a hill. No – there was one deviation. Daryl followed it and there was the answer to his question. A solitary Cherokee rose shone out from amidst the rhododendron tangle and the dead leaves, a white star amidst a mélange of rottenness.

Carol.

He instantly hefted his crossbow and swung it round in an arc, checking for walkers; checking no-one had followed her. What the hell was that woman doing out here on her own? No matter what anyone said, the vulnerable members of the group would take it into their heads to wander into the woods on their own and without adequate protection. Well, when he found her, he was going to give her a serious talking to and no mistake. Didn't she realise how alone she was?

He edged his way up the unfamiliar slope, treading as silently as jungle cat. When he got to the top, he turned to case the new landscape – and found a clearing in the woods, a dell surrounded by slopes on all sides with an itty-bitty log cabin bang in the centre of it. Daryl blinked. He'd momentarily hallucinated a gingerbread house and the track leading to it as a trail of breadcrumbs. He snarled silently to rid himself of that childish image and let his crossbow drop to his side. At least he knew where she was now. Clever girl, in fact, to find this hunter's cabin. He might very well start using it as a base for his hunting forays.

He began to make his way down into the dell, still scanning the ground for other tracks. He reached the dark wood cabin and made a tour of the perimeter. There was only one set of tracks - Carol's - leading to the front door. The cabin appeared to have just a couple of rooms plus a porch area. All the drapes were closed. What was she doing in there and how long had she known about this place for? He felt a spark of annoyance at the possibility she had known about it for some time and kept it secret from the group. Okay, it was just a cabin in the middle of nowhere, probably not much use to your average Joe survivor but surely she'd have mentioned it to _him?_

He stepped onto the porch and squinted through the front and screen doors. It was difficult to make out what he was looking at. There were a couple of pieces of furniture in the main room – a cabinet of some sort and he could see about half of a low couch but there was no-one in the room. Then something moved, something that was lying on the couch. Carol? Or something else? He pulled back immediately, his back flat against the side of the cabin, crossbow held at shoulder height. Then he inched his way around the side until he reached the main window of the central room. He ducked below the windowsill then slowly raised his head until his eyes just popped up over it. The drapes were not quite closed and through the gap, he got a good view of the room, the left arm rest of the couch being closest to the window.

There was someone lying on the couch. Someone with close-cropped grey hair. But why was Carol lying so still? Was she hurt? He was just about to head back to the door when he heard it. The guttural cry. It could easily be interpreted as a cry of pain or despair but his body and his mind were not so easily fooled. It was the cry of someone in the throes of sexual delight. Daryl's keen eyes flickered around the room trying to locate the one who was doing this to Carol but there appeared to be no-one there. He looked back at the couch. All he could see was the top of her head, a little of her torso stretched out beyond and two raised thighs. That was when he noticed the hem of her dress was up around her waist and her right hand lay between her legs, on top of her white panties.

Daryl blushed effusively and turned away from the window to look blindly out into the trees. Carol was masturbating! She'd found a quiet place to slip away to where no-one would disturb her and she was pleasuring herself. He frowned. He'd never thought of Carol that way. He liked her, sure, he might even have said he felt _kindly _towards her but, somehow, it had never entered his head that she had a sex drive. Or a pussy for that matter. It had certainly not occurred to him that it might talk to her, tell her that it wanted to be stroked, poked, petted, played with.

Naw – was that really what was going on? She was a decent woman, a sensible woman. He shook his frowning head. Then he heard her cry out again, this time in whimpering tones and every one of his nerve endings tingled. He felt shot through with blue fire. He knew he should leave the poor woman to her solitary comfort but curiosity, a ravening curiosity, had hold of him, and he found himself zombie-eyed and turning back to the window.

It was frustrating, how little he could see but he didn't want to switch position in case she heard him moving around. He didn't want to disturb her – did _not _want this to stop. She seemed to still be covered to the waist down – damn, he'd do anything for a glimpse of titties right now! Her raised knees had dropped to the sides, though, exposing more crotch. As he watched, she brought her left hand into play, reaching further down between her legs.

It was fascinating and it was confusing. Her hands hardly seemed to be moving and she still had those white panties on. Where were the dildos? Daryl raised himself up a little further to get a better look at those hands. The right one nearest the top was so still, just a tendon moving in it. So what was she doing? Rubbing or somehow tickling her clit, he supposed. His cock jerked inside his jeans, its heat like an iron poker against his belly. Her left hand was more active, engaged in a slower but more dynamic piston-like motion. So, she was either pressing at the entrance of her cunt-hole over the top of her panties or maybe, just out of sight, she'd wormed her fingers under the leg and was pushing a couple of fingers in and out. _Whut does that feel like, _he wondered, _a clit diddle and a pussy pound? Was that whut she liked best? _Her hips bucked a couple of times and more pathetic little noises escaped her. Daryl suddenly realised he was moving, too, his hips thrusting in sympathy. For a moment, he felt embarrassed, then Carol's head fell to the left, and her pelvis tilted upwards and quivered. She cried out half-formed words. "Yeh – go, Duh – go on, Dah…"

What was that? Was that – Daryl? Was she saying his name? He clamped a hand over his crotch and found himself mouthing, _Say my name. Say my name!_ At the same time, Carol's hips released from their taut position in several bucking spasms and her body sank into spent relaxation.

She'd said his name! Hadn't she? She'd been thinking about him while she touched herself, imagining it was his strong hands touching her the way he knew he could, his cock pushing into her sending her hips bucking. She needed him. Now. He was just about to start for the door when a new sound reached his ears.

Sobs, heart-rending sobs. He looked back at the couch and could see that Carol's arms had come up and her hands were covering her face as her chest heaved with the crying. This time, he was sure who she was thinking about.

Sofia.

Maybe she felt guilty about enjoying herself in even this small way when her daughter's death was still fresh in her mind. But she shouldn't! It was normal, wasn't it, to look for comfort in the midst of pain? Why, even he himself had –

There was a noise behind him – way up on the slope behind him but Daryl's senses were finely tuned and always, no matter what he was doing, in peripheral mode. He turned and saw a walker standing on the crest, leering down towards the cabin. _Fuckin' Peepin' Tom, _he thought. _Can't you leave this woman in peace? _A mean look crossed his face as his crossbow came up and he fired it almost before it reached eye level. The male walker plunged backwards, out of sight on the other side of the crest, a crossbow bolt transfixing its skull.

Daryl glanced back through the window and saw Carol had heard something, too. She was sitting up on the couch, looking at the door. She'd picked up the car fender she'd brought with her for protection and had adopted a puma pose, eyes strong, every limb poised for explosive movement. _Smart cookie, _he thought and almost smiled then he turned back to the woods and was gone.

As Carol made her way back to the farm, she had no idea who lurked in the bushes, determined to destroy any dumb thing that wandered into her path.

That night, as Daryl lay in his tent and began his own nightly caress, he took far longer than usual just getting his cock out of his pants. He spent some time just rubbing his hand over the bulge in his jeans – the first part a woman would see and feel – enjoying the healthy size of it. The he undid the zipper _snick snick snick_ and let the hard, cut prong spring into his fist. Jerking off had been perfunctory for him for a long time now, just a way of emptying the tense feeling in his balls. Sometimes, it was accompanied by a collage of disparate images – pussies he'd seen, the breasts of some of the women in the Atlanta group pushing against their shirts, Andrea's ass and thighs in her tight jeans, sweat trickling down Maggie's cleavage but this time there was only one person on his mind. He got a dollop of hand lotion he'd managed to steal from one of the tents before retiring into his hand and applied it to his prick. He squeezed as he pulled slowly at his hard-on, enjoying the pressure, enjoying just looking at his dirty piece of meat being manipulated like that. He brought in his other hand, rubbing the flat of his palm around the head in a sliding, twisting motion. Every exhalation now came with a husky moan, a hiss from deep inside his lungs. He stopped briefly to pull his shirt off over his head then looked down at his prick over the bulges of his chest. He was muscular. Sure he was. The muscles in his arms looked beefy, too. He could pick up a girl in one of those arms, easy; beat up a bad guy; hold a girl down while he fucked her, if that was what she was into. Any girl would surely be happy to run her hands over this chest of his, even if he was just an ugly, dumb-ass piece o' white trash.

He put his head back, exposing his thick neck in a way he never normally liked to do. He squeezed his eyes shut and pictured her spying on him, watching this bad boy playing with his own prick. His head came forwards again and rested on his left shoulder as his hand began to work faster. He imagined looking her in the eye as he pulled on it, thrusting his hips up towards his hand, his creamy-slick shaft so close to her face. He ran his tongue slowly across his upper lip, seeing her do the same in his mind's eye and then he was there, hips bucking just the same as hers had bucked earlier that day, his semen shooting about a foot in the air in several gushing gouts.

He fell back against the pillows, panting with exhaustion. After a minute or two, he lifted his head and surveyed the damage caused by a heavy cummer such as him. There was semen on his belly, on his jeans – he'd even managed to catch the tent flap with a dramatic Jackson Pollock streak. His lip curled with disgust as he reached for his old friend the face flannel and he pondered whether what Carol had really been about to say was, "Dale".


	2. The Wounded

**The Wounded**

It was a fair few days before Daryl got the opportunity to make his approach to Carol.

She was sitting in the shade of some trees just behind the farm and mending clothes. There'd been several of the other women with her up until about ten minutes ago – a regular sewing circle. Now, they'd gone inside to fix some cool drinks and Carol was working alone. As Daryl walked towards her across the lawn, she looked up into the sun, squinting, bringing her hand up to her brow to shade her eyes. When she saw who it was, she smiled her beautiful, rare smile.

Daryl locked eyes with her and attempted to bring all his knowingness into them, that thread of carnal connection he knew they shared. He put his hand on the bulge in his jeans and rubbed over it a few times, slowly, purposefully, never letting his intense blue gaze drop.

Carol's smile withered instantly and her eyes snapped away. She brought her sewing right up to her nose and glared at it with fake interest.

"Hell, all this hot weather," said Daryl, scratching furiously, "gives a man a chronic case of crotch itch."

Carol gave a small nod that acknowledged she'd bought the lie – at least, for appearance sake. "Give me your jeans," she said. "I'll put them in the next wash." For a moment, he faltered. Did she want him to take his jeans off right now? His cheek twitched. No, of course she fucking didn't!

"Heaven knows how long it is since you last washed those things. How many pairs you got?"

He micro-shrugged. "Just the one, of course."

She shook her head and _tsk_ed.

He wandered off back towards his tent. _Shit shit shit shit SHIT!_

* * *

It was never going to work. What the fuck did he know about women, how to approach them, romance them, pleasure them, even? There'd been so few in his life and most of them magnanimously provided by his brother, Merle. Even now, he looked back on his sex life before the apocalypse less with fondness than with shame…

* * *

The girl looked up at Daryl. "Is this him?" Her heavily mascara-ed eyes made her look  
bitchy and sickly simultaneously.

"That's him. Now you make sure you give him the works, alright? I'll be watchin'."

"Whut?" said Daryl, taking a step back from the bed.

"Shit yeah, lil' brother. I gotta make sure we's gettin' our money's worth. You know whut these 'hos is like." Merle pulled up a wooden chair and seated himself in it, slinging an ankle across his knee and biting into an apple.

"Uh, I dunno." Daryl was shaking his head.

"Whatsa matter?" said the girl. "You chicken? You worried you ain't gonna match up to your brother?"

Merle laughed from his shady corner.

The girl sat back on her hands and opened her thighs so Daryl got a good look at her crotch, a red lace thong not quite hiding it, a dark patch showing where her pubic hair lay. He couldn't take his eyes off it and as he watched, she began to circle her hips, tipping her crotch towards him on each circuit. The contours of her pussy resolved before him but he loved everything else, too – the tension in the tendons at the top of her thighs; the bulge of her pubic bone; the softly bulging heart shape of her ass just visible below her pussy, the string of the thong cutting it in two. When she laughed lightly and reached up to release the hard-on that was now pressing fiercely against his jeans, he realised the decision about whether this was going to happen or not had already been made.

As she pulled his prick out of his fly, his own hand came round on automatic to hold it. He wasn't used to his hard-on flying free without his hand being on it. When the girl saw him grasp it, she dutifully dropped her arms to her sides and opened up her mouth, her tongue flat against her lower lip. He pushed the head of his cock against her tongue, smudging the lipstick on her upper lip and oh Jeez, that looked good! He moved his hips a few times, rubbing the mushroom-shaped cock head against every part of her lips while she stared up at him with nasty eyes. Then she opened wider and engulfed the head, sucking the first spurts of pre-cum and moaning with each one. As her head moved further down, Daryl let go of his prick and grasped the girl instead, one hand on her shoulder, the other making a fist in the tangle of her black hair. Taking her cue from this, the girl opened her throat and took his whole length in her mouth.

She was deep-throating him! She hardly needed to suck any more – the traction on his prick was incredible. He looked down in amazement. Her lips were grotesquely stretched over the base of his prick, her cheeks bulging. _Gah! _It was gross and he hated it and he loved it at the same time. Any moment now, he was going to spew his load into this chick's throat. When he felt her reach under to cradle his balls, he knew he had to take action if he wanted it to last.

Daryl grabbed both her shoulders and shoved her back onto the bed. After a moment of gawping incomprehension, she got the message and climbed onto all fours. He grabbed the hem of her denim skirt and wormed it up to her hips. The red thong sang out against the milky whiteness of her ass. He rubbed his hand over the twin globes, passing it from left to right to left, loving the roundness that pushed against his palm. Then he crouched on the floor at the bottom of the bed so his head was level with her ass. He reached up to pull the thong down and reveal her pussy – slowly, so slowly.

There came a snort from the corner. "C'mon, boy, you just gonna look at it? Stick your cock in there."

The girl looked over her shoulder at him, a contemptuous smile curling on her lip.

Daryl stood up quickly, grasped her by the hips and slid his hard-on deep inside her. She let out the moan that comes with a bone-deep pain. After withdrawing almost all the way, he slammed it back in and began to thrust very quickly in and out.

"That's more like it, boy!" came Merle's cry. There was the sound of hand slapping thigh, mouth mawling the apple. "Poke her hard 'til you squirt your load. Woo-hoo!"

Daryl gritted his teeth. He was pretty much fucking her with everything he'd got but somehow felt he was in danger of losing his erection. Holding onto her hips with one hand, he crouched over her back and reached under to grasp one of her breasts. They were quite small and still encased in their bra and the blouse that covered it but sure felt good. He squeezed gently, rubbing it round in circles. After a minute or two of this – and of feeling his hard belly slide against that ass and her delightfully arching lower back – his hips regained their enthusiasm. He began to lose his inhibitions, throw all of his lower body into the movement, not just the hips, fucking away with animal abandonment. He looked down at the lithe body writhing away beneath him and suddenly wanted to possess it utterly, not just with his cock but with his mind. He wanted it to feel exactly what he wanted it to feel. He wanted it to come for him. He decided to try out something he'd read about and once again, he slid his hand underneath her, this time reaching between her thighs. His fingers slid about in her wetness, trying to locate her little peanut.

"Whuuut? She's a whore – you don't need to be doin' any of that shit!" Merle's voice was incredulous.

"Just get on with it, will ya?" said the girl.

Daryl's fingers pulled away as if burned. He clasped her hips again and screwed his face into a rapist's grimace as he screwed her as hard as he could. He looked down at her ass, enjoying the way it wobbled, enjoying the growing redness as he fucked her violently, sadistically, finally coming inside her with a waterfall gush that literally filled her pussy. But even before he'd finished his final spasms, Merle was pushing him out of the way and stuffing his own cock inside the dripping girl. As he fucked her, he spilled vicious obscenities and insults upon her.

Daryl turned away from the bed, dazed. It was too soon even to feel nausea. He clumsily hiked his jeans back up over his hips, and made to stand and head out the door.

"Where you goin'? You don't move 'til I say so."

He looked up to see his brother looking right at him. Merle pointed imperiously at the couch. Daryl collapsed on it, his legs forming an exhausted diamond shape.

"Watch this," said Merle. He reached out and grabbed the girl's hair, pulling her head back until she yelped, then he pushed her forwards, forcing her face into the bedspread. His other hand gripped her waist as his hips pistoned into her. He was an animal, too, but a very different kind of animal: a hyena to Daryl's wolf. His face scrunched up just as his brother's had, though, all the same – squinting eyes, bared teeth, jutting lower jaw…

The girl moaned, the sound muffled by the bedspread. A moment or two later, she started to thrash her arms.

"Merle," said Daryl. _"Merle. _She can't breathe."

"So whut?" came the rapid reply. "Back off, pussy lover, I'm doin' mah thing."

Thankfully, his "thing" only lasted a few more seconds. He came in one or two apparently joyless thrusts and pushed the girl away from him. Both she and Daryl gasped with relief. The girl turned round, black eye make-up streaking down her face and spat at the older man.

He laughed and threw a few twenty dollar bills in her face.

Daryl heard her slam the bedroom door as she left – heard but didn't see. He had the heels of his palms pressed against his eye sockets and brow, and was massaging furiously. "Can I go now?" he asked.

"Sure, you've learnt your lesson for today, I reckon." Merle was zipping up his jeans and already dabbing with a damp cloth at the cum stains on the bedspread. In a household full of men, some standards had to be maintained. Merle made a great surrogate Ma.

Later that evening, Daryl had finished his work and his chores, and was retiring to his room for the night. The first thing he saw, as he opened the door, was two full colour dirty magazines arranged on his bed. Merle. There was a note, too, succinct and sarcastic: "Enjoy, Pussy Lover." The magazines were entirely girl-on-girl material with little pussies being pleasured sweetly in every conceivable manner. Daryl threw them across the room, kicking his bed and barking in frustration. Then he sank into his rocking chair beside the window, stared out at the side of the barn and wished he had a view.

* * *

Some place, some place far way, he could hear Carol screaming. "What happened? What the hell happened? Oh Lord, let me see to him."

He felt himself half-led, half-dragged into the farmhouse. He tried to reassure Carol as he passed that he was fine, the bullet wound was nothing but she was a pale vertical blur just like all the others and he wasn't so sure his words were coming out right at all. They laid him on the couch and he stared around him at the surreal white walls and ceiling until he wasn't staring at all but drifting into pink unicorn land. A little later, he felt something cold being pressed to his temple. He opened his eyes and saw Andrea leaning over him, tears welling in her brilliant blue eyes though her mouth remained a trenchant line. "S'aright," he heard himself say. "You didn't hurt me bad. S'only a scratch."

A few moments later, he opened his eyes again and Andrea had turned into Shane. The big dark guy was tipping his head from left to right, examining Daryl from all angles, a doubtful frown on his face.

"Whut you lookin' at?" he cried feistily. "I ain't ready for the scrapheap yet and I ain't about to turn into no walker neither so you can leave off your plottin'."

Shane just stared.

Now the clock said eight-thirty. Hell, it had said five pm only five minutes ago! It was getting dark outside, too. He realised that he desperately needed to piss, and also that every limb felt as if all the bone and muscle had been taken out of it and replaced with quivering jelly. The wounds on his head and his side throbbed a warning like not quite dormant volcanoes. There was someone rattling around in the kitchen but was he going to call out for help to get to the john? Hell, no! He heaved himself off the couch and managed a controlled stagger towards the downstairs toilet. After sitting down to pee - ! – he somehow managed the return journey, collapsing face-down on the couch.

"What _are_ you doing?"

"Leave me alone, I'm tired," he mumbled.

"You're pulling your bandage off your head. Come here – let me fix it."

He felt hands against his left shoulder rolling him over so he lay against the back of the sofa. He opened his eyes and was going to put up a fight when he saw it was Carol who was tending to him. She was leaning right over him and gently adjusting the bandage around his head. Her cross was dangling in his face. Beyond that, her blouse was gaping and he could see a shadowy curve, a hint of lace bra. He lay very, very still.

"There, that's much better," said Carol.

"Thanks," he said awkwardly.

"How's your side? I heard you got stuck by an arrow, too." She moved to lift his shirt.

He grabbed it quickly and pulled it down. "It's fine, fine." Colour played in his washed-out face. He attempted to smile but it was too much for him and he began to go woozy again.

A cool hand was laid on his cheek. "Are you alright, honey? Do you want me to go fetch Herschel?"

"Naw," he heard himself say. "Jus' feelin' a little spaced out is all." He looked up again to see a face so full of compassion gazing into his own, he was mesmerised by it, as if he were seeing some kindly supernatural being. He felt compelled to speak. "I feel," he said, "like I've been made today into the outsider I've always known I am. Not much better'n a walker, deservin' to get shot."

"That's not true!" she said vehemently, tears starting in her pale blue eyes. "It's never been true for me."

Daryl brought his hand up and laid it over Carol's. Then he attempted to lift himself on his elbows into a more comfortable position – and saw that, upon exiting the john, he had failed to do up his fly. "Shit!" he cried out. "Oh shit!" He fumbled with the zipper but his hands refused to obey him.

"Let me do that for you." She took hold of the zipper and the edge of his jeans, and began to yank at the awkward fastening. The back of her hand brushed against his penis and it instantly twitched into life.

Carol paused for a moment then grasped his penis firmly as she tried to push it back inside his tight jeans.

Blood jolted into it, stiffening it in the woman's hand and he let out an involuntary moan. "Sorry," he said immediately. "I'm sorry."

She was looking at him with a pointed expression, the sort she always used when she was trying to see past his bluff front to his true feelings. Tentatively, she stroked his cock, moving her hand just a little and although he tried to resist, he became fully erect, his cock pointing straight at the ceiling. He shut his eyes and let his head fall back. Pain shot through his brain making him wince but it was easily overwhelmed by the pleasure in his loins. Still, he heard himself say, "No, Carol, what're you doin'?"

She walked over to the door to the kitchen and shut it, pulling a chair over so its back jammed up against the doorknob. Then she strode over to the window and closed the drapes with a crisp motion. Daryl followed every step with nervous eyes, afraid of what was going to happen; afraid that it might _not_ happen; afraid he would do something to offend her so that meant it would _never_ happen.

She came back to the couch where the young man now lay in shade looking up at her with a blank, defensive face, his cock belying him with its joyful angle. She knelt beside the bed, sitting on her heels and took him in her hand again. Keeping her eyes fixed on the focus of her work, she began to stroke him up and down with an expert technique.

Immediately, Daryl lost control. His face began to twitch in time to his staccato breaths, his chest and stomach heaving. He looked down at the long-fingered, feminine hand massaging him, the almost surreal sight of white fingers around his bulging, red cock, and he squeezed his eyes shut and turned his head towards the back of the couch. He knew he was already jerking and leaking, his need for this running deeper than the need for mere physical release. He wondered who had taught her to fondle a man so cleverly. Ed? The thought that he was reaping the reward from the most likely cruel training of that abusive man made his stomach shrivel with disgust but there was no doubt her touch was driving _this_ man to the edge. And this despite the pounding in his head and side, and the fact that his left arm was trapped at a strange angle between his torso and the back of the couch. He twisted awkwardly to free it and lay his hand on his stomach. That was when he noticed that his right hand, which was lying beside him, was making vague jacking off motions. More cringing! It must be so clear to Carol that he was almost a stranger to pleasure that didn't involve self-manipulation. He opened his eyes a little, just a blue glint between his lashes, to gauge her reaction.

She was looking right in his face now. She had noticed the movement of his hand and one corner of her mouth was lifted in an amused smile, her eyes a river of sympathy. But it wasn't all motherly compassion. Her breathing rate had gone up – he could see her chest heaving dramatically. And the movements of her hand had taken on a plaintive quality, squeezing as she pulled, begging him to come for her. She reached out and laid her left hand against his cheek once more.

Overwhelmed, Daryl just let go. He gasped, cried out piteously; his forehead creasing as he squinted hard. He thrust up into her hand as his whole body bucked then he came, a cascade behind the eyes washing through his body. For a moment, he was truly happy then he fell into spent darkness.

Slowly, he became aware of an increase of light as drapes were opened and of someone gently putting him back inside his jeans. When he re-opened his eyes, he saw the face of the Carol he had always known, pensive and kindly and quite remote. She came to the couch and smoothed down his sweaty hair. She kissed him on the forehead and left the room.

He slept.

* * *

From that day onwards, he couldn't take his eyes off her. He found himself noticing things he couldn't believe he hadn't noticed before. Things such as how firm her body looked, how the shortness of her pixie-cut emphasized the length of her neck, how piercing her emotive blue eyes were, what a poised and elegant woman she was overall. He stared at her while she washed clothes, while she ate, while she kept watch for walkers. He couldn't help it – half the time, he didn't even know he was doing it. Sometimes, she caught him looking and looked away, flustered. Less often, she met his gaze and appeared to go into a trance, eyes turned vacant and lips parted for her heaving breaths.

It seemed that every day, at some point, Daryl was tormented by the memory of Carol's hand on his hard-on. He could still feel the pressure of her fingers on his engorged flesh, squeezing and pulling so sweetly. Several times a day, now, he was having to make excuses so he could go masturbate, sometimes just disappearing behind a tree. A few rapid strokes were enough to make this young man, in his erotically-charged state, ejaculate copiously into the air. He began to suspect he had just about created a perimeter border of cum around the farmstead!

There was no doubt about it, though – she was avoiding him. She had clearly vowed to herself that further sexual contact was not going to take place. Daryl began to rehearse in his head ways he could persuade her to change her mind, everything from overwrought, Hollywood-style seductions to the plea of, _Look, we don't have to fuck. We could jus' jack each other off. You don't even have to kiss me or anythin'._ The latter just in case she really did find him physically disgusting. He wanted to kiss her, though, and so much more.

There was only one last change of dressing needed for his head now. He sat on the edge of the bed expectantly, picking at a stain on his frayed jeans, when Carol came in with bandages and antiseptic cream. He started – he'd been expecting Herschel.

Registering his surprise, Carol explained, "Herschel's needed down at the stable. One of the horses is limping. This shouldn't take more than a couple of minutes, anyway."

Every second of those minutes pumped determination into Daryl's heart, made every cell sing with erotic possibilities. Shut in together in one of the farmhouse bedrooms – perfect! As Carol tucked in the last loose end of bandage, he reached up and put his hand on the back of her head, pulling her down towards a kiss –

"No!" Carol struggled out of his grasp.

"Why not?"

"It's wrong."

Daryl sat up. "How do you mean, 'wrong'?"

"My husband –"

"Your husband can't control you anymore. You're nobody's property."

"You're too young…"

He looked up at her sarcastically from beneath lowered brows.

She changed tack. "Sexual contact outside of wedlock is wrong. It's a sin." She grabbed her cross and held on to it fiercely.

"Whut? Makin' each other happy is a sin? Darlin', there ain't no such thing as marriage anymore. The priests, the legal system – that's all gone. Anyways, Ed was your husband in the eyes of God and the law but was what he did to you right?"

"You have no business talking that way!" she hissed, eyes welling with righteous tears.

"I got every right to talk any way I want, if I'm tellin' the truth. You think you can shut me up just by cryin'? Woman, you always look like you gonna burst into tears at any moment anyways."

"You're cruel," she said, turning her head and her tears away from him.

"No, I'm not. All I've ever tried to do is comfort you and I'm still tryin' to do it now." He reached out with gentle fingers and tried to take her hand but Carol was gone before he could catch her.

**That's Chapter Two, folks! I hope you enjoyed it. Yes, there's a fair bit of masturbation again but, hey, my love life's a desert at the moment - it's the only language I know! Hopefully, the romance is beginning to come through a bit more strongly now. I'm saving the best for the climax (pun intended).**


	3. The Mirror

**The Mirror**

Daryl's Triumph motorcycle scooted up alongside the scouting party's cars sending a cloud of irritating dust into their faces, just as he'd meant it to. "Not a single one, so far as I can tell," he said.

"Bullshit!" said Glenn. "There's always walkers around shopping malls." When the rest of the group looked at him doubtfully, he whined, "There _are!_ Have none of you seen any of the films?"

Shane frowned his exasperated frown. "This ain't no film, Glenn. They're not zombies, they're walkers."

Glenn threw his hands in the air.

"Oh, I do not deny there's been walkers here," chipped in Daryl. "There may still be walkers inside the buildings. But outside, right now? Naw, there's been no walkers in this area for a coupla months at least."

Andrea gave a little shrug. "Maybe it's because it's out of town. It's small, too, for a mall. I think we could make it safe. When you think of the resources that might be in there, it seems worth the risk."

Daryl, Andrea, Maggie and Carol all looked at one another and nodded. Only Shane and Glenn still looked doubtful. Then Glenn turned to the taller guy. "Can't hurt to check it out," he said with a shrug.

Shane looked at each of them in turn then held up his hands, palms forwards. "Okay," he said. "It's your call. _This_ time." He went back to his car.

As engines were fired, Daryl turned to pat the passenger seat behind him but Carol was already stepping into the back seat of Shane's Hyundai. Daryl met the scouting party leader's eyes and beamed his malice into them. As he rode his motorbike into the lead, the disappointment clear in the down turn of his mouth was hidden from everyone's view.

* * *

"That's it? They were all in the motel annexe? This house is clean?" asked Glenn, the corner of his mouth twitching slightly.

"Yup. All the signs say the survivors holed up in the motel and drew the walkers over there," said Daryl pointing out the window at tracks in the dirt outside that were virtually invisible to everyone else. "Then it looks like they escaped in maybes a station wagon drawing a fair percentage of the walkers away again. We've searched every nook and cranny of the place and apart from the two we found, the motel's good. We just got a few more shops to go through and then the mall'll be clear, too. And after that –"

"Shots time!" grinned Andrea, appearing with armfuls of vodka and Schnapps bottles as if by magic.

"And dress up time!" said Glenn. They were in a fancy dress store and he'd just found his dream costume. "I always wanted to be a ninja!"

Shane rolled his eyes. Then he saw the white cowboy boots…

* * *

"Here's to a most successful raid by we Vikings of Georgia!" cried Shane as he slung his white boots up onto the table and raised his glass.

They all joined in the toast.

"I don't know about Vikings," smiled Carol, "but we've got everything but."

"Let's see," said Glenn. "We got me, the ultimate ninja, clearly. We got camp cowboy guy –"

"Whut the hell -?" said Shane, his glass sloshing.

"S'okay, never mind," laughed Glenn wickedly. "We got the Little Mermaid without the red hair."

"Ew, that wig," grimaced Carol, patting down the wispy ends of her own hair at the back of her neck. "Something had been chewing on it."

"Maybe there was fresh dandruff inside it. Delicious if you're a really hungry cannibal," said Andrea then she did a pretty good impersonation of Hannibal Lecter enjoying a nice Chianti.

"Ew, EW!" said Carol, joining in their laughter.

"And let us not forget," said Glenn, "the inimitable Andrea as the unforgettable Marilyn Monroe."

Everyone cheered, Shane a little louder than most, as Andrea shimmied her shoulders and _Oo-boo-be-doop_ed.

"Last but not least," said Glenn, turning to the girl at his side with his eyes shining, "my thoroughly modern Maggie, the farmer's daughter reborn as a nineteen twenties starlet." He drank another toast as his eyes drank their fill of her. Maggie was a delight in a frilly white flapper girl dress with a heavy silver sash about the hips. She had on a soft grey cloche hat, and her stockings and T-strap shoes sparkled. Her hair was curled and her large eyes kohled, and it was clear to everyone that Glenn couldn't wait to get her into one of those motel rooms.

"Not quite last," Carol piped up as she started to clear away the empty glasses and go fetch more alcohol. "One of us is still missing."

"Yeah," said Glenn. "Where the hell is Daryl? What's taking him so long to get ready?"

Carol turned to the door just as Daryl made his entrance.

There was a reason why he had taken so long. Fear. Fear that they would laugh at him, that he only looked ridiculous whenever he tried to look nice. Merle's mocking laughter had begun to echo in his ear as soon as he'd walked into the fancy dress store never mind about when he'd started selecting costumes or tried them on. He felt he was risking his dignity and his balls in doing this.

The first thing he saw as he entered the dining room was a back. It was a long, beautifully-muscled woman's back, the landscape of skin broken up only by the horizontal lines of glittering green that held on her bikini top. The shortness of her hair meant the back of her neck was entirely exposed to his gaze and deliciously vulnerable. Familiar pearl earrings shone in her ears. Unbidden, his expression softened as he moved up next to her.

Carol looked up at him and it was as if all her resistance dissolved in an instant. She was open-mouthed.

"Welcome to the party Mr Rudolph Valentino!" said Glenn with a surprise in his voice that was reflected in the expressions of everyone around the table.

Daryl had had a shave. And a thorough, thorough wash. His clean hair was Brylcreemed, parted at the side and brushed back from his face. A classic black tuxedo emphasized his heroic physique, its high white shirt collar and white bowtie against his skin bringing out his crisp blond colouring and setting off the fine angles of his face. Doubtful though he was of his own attractiveness, particularly at this perilous moment, he couldn't help notice that Carol's breathing rate – the best indicator he knew of how turned on she was – had gone up. Since that initial gaze of wonderment, she had been unable to meet his eyes. She stroked her neck nervously.

"Mm-mm!" said Andrea, looking him up and down half-playfully, half-seriously.

"Aw, shuddup," said Daryl. "I look like someone's pet monkey." He pulled out the only spare chair and sat down. He noticed that someone had arranged so he'd be sitting next to Carol.

"But the question is, who you gonna be monkeyin' around with tonight," said Andrea, her glacial gaze tractor beaming him. Suddenly, she twitched as if jolted with electricity and she lifted her glass to her mouth to try to hide it. Daryl was too good a tracker, though. His eyes slid to her right and saw Shane looking pointedly away from the table. Misdirection. He was smirking. It was perfectly clear some shenanigans was going on under the table. Then he thought about himself indulging in exactly the same thing and his blood pressure rushed for the skies.

All through the meal, he was acutely aware of the presence of the woman he wanted at his side. It was like being in a room with a ghost. No matter what he was doing, there was a constant icy prickling sensation beside him. Carol seemed to be hyperventilating throughout most of the meal. She hardly spoke a word to him but every time she moved towards his side of the table, her hand shook, she mumbled and made Spoonerisms, dropped things. She made fake-demure passes across her cleavage as if wanting to cover her exposed breasts but actually stroking herself instead. That was when he knew. She wanted him. She genuinely wanted him. All that was holding her back was some silly ideal in her mind. He just didn't know how to let her know it was okay – god forbid they ended up with a re-run of the last time.

As an established couple, Maggie and Glenn were the first to slip away from the motel owners' dining room and into the bedrooms for hire. Glenn hit the portable CD player as he went past, pre-set with a compilation CD of smoochy jazz. He pointed at Shane and winked. As if Andrea needed seducing! Shane didn't have a hope in hell of escaping her clutches tonight.

As the small blond woman and the big dark guy got closer, teasing and daring each other, wrapping forearms as they knocked back shots of tequila, Daryl and Carol felt the silence between them ever more acutely. They sat like that for almost half an hour until Carol suddenly twisted her head as if trying to rid it of evil thoughts and rushed to her feet. Daryl immediately jumped up, too. "Are you okay?" he asked.

She started and her eyes scanned up from his chest to his face as if scaling the Empire State Building. She seemed overwhelmed by his height which was ridiculous because she'd stood beside him a thousand times before. She looked away, gathered herself and when she looked back, she was typical cool, distant Carol again. She smiled tightly and patted his upper arm as if reassuring an older child. "You have a good night, now," she said and disappeared.

Andrea chose that exact moment to clamber into Shane's lap, her legs spread wide and wrapped around both his waist and the back of his chair. Her head was tipped back as he ravished her neck with lips, teeth and tongue, enjoying his uniquely male attention the way a girl should. Then Shane stood up, taking Andrea with him and they stumbled their giggling way out of the room, almost bowling Daryl over as they did so.

His fist stopped just short of smashing down on the CD player. What was wrong with him? What was wrong with him? He caught his reflection in the glass door of the drinks cabinet and had to stop himself from smashing that, too. He was just a little boy playing dress-up. Worse than that – he really was that monkey-man, that Neanderthal who thought he was human. To make matters worse, the room Shane and Andrea had chosen was right next to the dining room. He could hear everything.

"Oh my," said Andrea in her best, breathy Monroe voice. "Something has lifted my skirt right up to my waist. Is it an air vent? No, it's Police Officer Shane Walsh!"

There was a thud as Shane pushed her up against the adjoining wall. Then – what was he saying? Oh, Jesus…

"Kiss my silver belt buckle. Go on – kiss it."

"Yes, sir."

A moment or two of silence and then, very faintly, almost too low to register, deep-chested Shane moans. She was kissing further down than his belt buckle, that was for sure.

Then the screaming started. Loud, shrill and sustained. And it wasn't coming from Shane and Andrea's room. Survival instincts kicking in instantaneously, Daryl darted out of the dining room and tracked it down.

Carol's room. She was crouching precariously on the dressing table, the long fishtail of her mermaid dress caught in its teeth.

It was a head, neck and part of one shoulder. The head was bald apart from a few wisps of reddish hair. The eyes were well into their decay and looked sunken, melted – clearly, the thing was blind. The nose had been eaten away and the raw flesh beneath the neck and shoulder were blackened with dried blood and a lengthy accumulation of grime. The teeth, however, were still strong and their grip on the sequined hem of Carol's dress was tenacious.

Daryl ripped off the fishtail then plucked Carol from the dressing table and whirled her out of the room. Before he had time even to think about putting her down, Andrea shot through the corridor like a comet, a steel poker wielded in her right hand and caved in the walker's skull. Black and dark red meat flew everywhere, making Carol scream so Daryl spun her round, his body shielding her, her face buried in his chest.

Shane arrived a split second later, hastily doing up his fly, then Glenn and Maggie appeared with bewildered faces and just towels for clothing. "Oh fuck," said Maggie. "I thought we'd cleared this place out."

"We did," said Shane. "It's just – look – it's so small. It musta been hiding somewhere."

That's when they all noticed the trail of black slime leading into the bedroom. Shane traced it back to the dining room. "You ain't gonna believe this," he said. "It was inside the drinks cabinet. Someone musta locked it in there months ago."

"Jesus, we've all had our hands in there tonight. Any one of us coulda got bit." Glenn shook his head.

They all stared. Then Andrea burst out laughing. "We were all so desperate for alcohol we missed a fuckin' head in the fuckin' drinks cabinet!" Her arms went weak and she dropped the poker.

"C'mon, missy," said Shane, looking with amusement and a little disgust at her gore-spattered white dress. "Let's get you cleaned up." He took her arm and led her back to their room.

"No, I'm not happy about it, Glenn, I'm not happy about it." Maggie's face showed panic and she plunged her hands into her hair. "There could be more of them hidden all over the place!"

"Well, I doubt that, I think this is an isolated event but I'll check double for you, baby." Just like Shane, he took a woman's arm and led her away, just like that and she went with him like a lamb.

Daryl slowly set Carol on her feet again. "No, I can't go back in there, I can't!" she cried, clinging to his shirt front. Her whole body was quivering. Her legs started to buckle and he quickly picked her up in his arms again and carried her down to his room.

"But there could be walkers in here, too!" she cried as he set her down on the bed.

"Now, you know me. I've checked every corner of this room and I know it's clean. Nothin' gets past me. You trust me, dontcha?"

Carol lifted her tear-stained face and nodded.

"You get yourself comfortable. I'll make up a bed for me right here on the floor. I'm gonna go get your things from the other room but I'm comin' straight back so don't you worry."

When he came back with her vanity case, she was exploring the room. He'd chosen the one at the far end of the corridor, nice and private, and it had turned out to be the "honeymoon suite". There was a king size bed, voluminously dressed with satin sheets, the bath had bubble spa fixtures and a large cheval mirror stood beside the bed. Carol was frozen in front of it, bewitched by her own reflection. He hesitated, wondering once again whether it was right to intrude upon her private moment, then decided hesitation had got him nowhere so far and put it to one side. He came up behind her and handed her the vanity case. She bent to put it down and when she straightened, his hand was on her hip. They stood like that for some time, gazing into each other's reflected eyes. Then Carol brought up her hand to touch the side of his face, fingers stroking down his cheek. They stopped at his upper lip and danced lightly over his mole.

Daryl flinched a little. He'd always been sensitive about his mole even though Ma had called it his beauty spot and told him it was one of his best features.

"No," said Carol, frowning at his flinch. "It's lovely. You're so handsome, so suave. How can I not have noticed how handsome you are?"

He didn't answer. He was afraid he would say something brutish that would make her retract her statement. He put his other hand on her waist and placed his face in the crook of her neck and shoulder, not even kissing it yet, just breathing in her scent.

"Daryl," she whispered. "You don't have to sleep on the floor tonight."

He looked up at her reflection and saw a pensive face, hope and fear mingling. He knew exactly how she felt. What did he really know about pleasing a woman? He'd never even given a woman an orgasm, as far as he knew. They might as well have been a couple of virgins on their wedding night.

Then he thought, _Ah, fuck it,_ grabbed her round the waist and Valentinoed her, tipping her backwards in his arms as he placed his mouth decisively on hers. She yelped with surprise and delight this time, and her arms came up to embrace his neck. Gently, he brought her to standing again and they began to kiss in earnest. It was glorious for him to discover her kissing style was the same as his. She kissed using every element of her mouth separately and to perfection: lips for pressing and sucking; teeth for gentle nibbling; tongue for flicking, licking, probing. He'd always enjoyed kissing but there was no doubt there were times when he'd felt an over-enthusiastic kissing partner had turned the experience into formless mush. This was different. His whole mouth was alive singing several different tunes in perfect harmony. He pulled Carol closer so their bodies were pressed hard against each other and kissed her more deeply as he held the back of her head in one hand. As passion began to overwhelm the both of them, he bent at the knee, grasped her hard around the hips and lifted her up. She threw her head back as he carried her over to the bed, kissing her chest all the way. Placing her on the mattress, he began to push her into the horizontal position with the looming force of his body.

Then he realised she was crying. Crying and trembling in his arms. "Whatsa matter?" he frowned, grasping her chin with his finger and thumb.

"I'm afraid," she managed through a wobbling mouth. "Ed –"

"Listen to me," said Daryl softly but forcefully. "I am not Ed. I am not your husband. But I would never hurt you the way he hurt you. And whut we're doin' here is not wrong but if you want me to stop at any time, I will. You got that?"

"Okay."

He paused for a moment then looked at her earnestly. "Do you trust me? I mean, really? I know you said you did a moment ago but do you really trust me?"

Carol looked into his frank blue eyes and again, all of her defensiveness melted away. Her face had the transformed look of a psychiatric patient who's had a psychic breakthrough. "Yes, I do," she said simply.

He smiled his small smile and rubbed her upper arms tenderly. Then he resumed his descent, pushing her back onto the bed and leaning over her, watching her face all the time. He began to kiss her neck, grimacing as he got a mouthful of perfume but quickly hiding his expression in case Carol misinterpreted it. He moved to the centre of her neck and kissed the well of her throat, suddenly realising he'd never kissed a woman there before. He lingered for a moment, dipping his tongue into the hollow and licking upwards as if it were some other delicious orifice. Then he ran his tongue along each of her collarbones in turn. This was one of the things he liked most about her physically – her shoulders. They were broad but slender, magnificent but delicate. His hands, as he ran them over her, had plenty to enjoy but still looked big against her slight flesh.

"Will you take off your jacket?" asked Carol.

"Huh?" He'd kind of forgotten about himself and his clothing. "Uh, yeah, of course." He took it off and then his hands flattened uncertainly against the band around his waist.

"Let me help you with your cummerbund," she said.

"That's what it's called? Jeez, what a name," his deep voice rumbled.

Carol's deft fingers – those expert fingers! – quickly pulled out the ends of the ebony silk and unwound the cummerbund as Daryl sat up to allow her room to work. He'd got quite hot underneath it and his white shirt was darkened with sweat. Carol breathed hard and touched the damp patches with quivering fingers. He knew she was imagining what his naked flesh felt like beneath. He pulled off his bowtie, opened the top few buttons of his shirt, took Carol's hand and pushed it inside. She gladly ran it across the soft/hard muscles and the dusting of hair, stopping to trace the hollow of his throat, too, then her eyes closed in ecstasy and she let her head fall back. As Daryl leant over her again, her hand moved up to his neck and buried itself in the soft locks of his hair. He kissed her harder this time, plunging his tongue into her mouth, hoping she was ready for more intensity.

Her rising moans told him she was. He held his open mouth against her open mouth as if trying to consume the moans as they emerged, consume her pleasure. He wanted to take all of her into himself even as he wanted to put himself into her. He brought up a hand and placed it on her right breast, irritated to find the stiffened fabric of the bikini top blocked all sensation. Rather hurriedly, he yanked it down then spent some moments just looking at her breasts. Titties – at last! They were small and lay flat against her chest but the nipples were set high and jaunty, pushing up towards his face like cries for help. Dark red, they were – bunched with nervous energy. He fell upon them, sincerely attempting to get a breast so deep in his throat the nipple would hit the roof of his mouth. He suckled and he licked around the nipple then he drew back and licked around the whole breast, too, feeling the altering curves and gradients on his tongue. Then he did the same with the other breast. Carol's head was lolling way back somewhere on the pillow, her hands running constantly over his back and up into his hair. She had parted her legs and his body now lay between them, his navel level with her crotch. A playful mood came over him and he rested the side of his smiling head between her breasts and stretched out his tongue, reaching for one of those dark pyramids until he felt his tongue would tear from his head. Finally, the tip of it just reached a nipple and he flicked at it rapidly, gasping and chuckling as he did so.

Seemingly encouraged by this playfulness, Carol pinched her nipple, tipping it towards him so his tongue could wet it and stimulate it with more ease. Then her fingers found their way inside his mouth, rubbing his lips and stroking his tongue, and he sucked on them dutifully.

New thoughts, new potentialities flashed into his mind. Daryl clambered up her body so their faces were level once more. He discovered Carol's head was tipped to the left and she was watching their co-mingling in the cheval mirror.

Her eyes were fixed with a drugged expression on where his hand was splayed over her breast then they travelled up to the place where his mouth now hovered over her bare neck like a vampire preparing to pounce. He had to admit, it was sexy seeing both their bodies together like that. Experimentally, he licked her neck, saw her eyes flicker, the muscles of her stomach clench – tiny, sensuous moments he would miss without this reflection. The trail of his saliva glistened silver on her neck. There was a special charge for Daryl in seeing this. As someone whose principal sexual experiences had consisted of fantasies, and watching pornography and love scenes in films, the sight of his own body pressed against a woman's resonated strongly with his sense of the erotic. In an instant, he drank in every aspect of their juxtaposition: where their hands were – his, one on her breast, the other cradling her head; hers, reaching down to his lower back now and even further, to his behind, fingers clutching softly at his buttocks and pressing him against her. Their hair: sweat creating tiny kiss curls all along Carol's hairline; his hair falling out of its slicked-back do and tumbling over his forehead. Their faces: so close to each other, both pale, both with blue eyes burning intensely and mouths gaping. Their state of undress: Carol with her glittering bikini top twisted uselessly around her waist and her breasts exposed, her sea-green sequined dress ripped at the hem and now riding up her thighs; him still very much clothed and that somehow adding to his power and masculinity as he loomed over the semi-naked woman. Sweat darkened the white shirt in places and made it cling to the contours of his strong body. Carol clearly delighted in that, watching her own hands run over his shoulders and enjoy their mass.

"So this is your kink, woman," growled Daryl, kissing her at the top of her neck just below her ear, the pressure of his face there keeping hers tilted towards the mirror, where it wanted to be.

"I think," she began, thinking it out as she spoke, "I'm finally seeing you for who you really are, seeing this for what it really is."

He let his lips just rest against her ear. Gently, he said, "I always did."

Carol was shaking her head in wonder, tears in her eyes. "You're so handsome, so handsome."

He didn't answer. He still found it hard to comprehend. He ran his lips along her jawline instead.

Carol tilted her head down and looked him in the eye. Somehow, she found the courage to say, "Take me. Take me now."

"No."

Confusion sprang into her face. Fear quickly followed. "No?" she said.

"Naw," he repeated, a half-smile revealing he was enjoying this control.

Carol waited.

He sat back, pulled her into his arms, undid the clasp of her glittering bikini top, threw it to one side and laid her back down again. Then he pulled at her green dress and it sloughed off down her thighs. That, too, he discarded. She had already kicked off her shoes, as had he. Daryl looked down at her hips with a rare look of delight on his face. White panties! Surely those same white panties she'd been wearing when he'd spied on her touching herself in the cabin. Their appearance stabbed at him like the appearance of an object of sexual fetish. Always, in his recent fantasies, Carol had on white panties worn low on the hip. He rubbed the palms of his hands down from her bent knees and along her thighs as his upper body moved in to press her knees apart –

"No, Daryl," she said, striving to keep her knees together.

He looked into a face suddenly gone tense. He continued to stroke her thighs, looking at her with a questioning expression.

"No, I don't want you to," she said. "You don't need to do that. I – I – I – I –"

Now, Daryl had heard that some women don't want you to go down on them. They were worried that their pussies didn't look right or they smelled funny or that it was a disgusting thing to do or something. He squinted at Carol and tried to decipher what it was she was really thinking. Her mouth was a pouty line and her eyes still pleaded but there was nothing truly hard or disturbed in that face. He thought about it for maybe a second, decided it was bullshit, and used his hands and elbows to push her thighs apart. She cried out in consternation as he settled himself between her legs.

He was going to respect her wishes, though, and not go down on her. Oh yes. But he was going to do everything but! He began to stroke his fingers down the flesh of her inner thigh, following his hand with his mouth, drawing lips and tongue along with leech-like suction. He ran his thumbs down the sides of her panties, over the tendons and into the hollows beside her pussy. Another precious hollow! He slurped his tongue up each one. So gently, so slowly, he traced the top edge of her panties with the tips of his fingers, hardly touching the skin, unsure who he was torturing the most – Carol or himself. His face was so close to her, she could surely feel his hot, heavy breath on her pussy.

"Daryl…"

He slid his hands beneath her buttocks and massaged them, wondering at how firm and apple-like they were as he lifted the bowl of her pelvis off the bed and tilted it towards his face. He fixed his mouth on her thigh again and experimented with lapping and sucking, running his bared teeth across the skin then biting into the scanty flesh. He moved his mouth lower and lower, feeling the change in temperature from cool at the knee, animal-warm mid-thigh to furnace at the juncture of thigh and pelvis. He spent some time just drawing in air through his nostrils, relishing the heat as much as the musky scent. Then he looked up at her again, that feral squint of his never more predatory, that micro-smile that flickered across his lips revealing all of his untapped sexual prowess. Carol was starting to writhe. Daryl lifted one hand in the air and began to bring the middle finger down towards her pussy. She could've stopped him at any time, just grabbed his wrist or knocked his hand away. Instead, as the finger met her flesh and ran down the cleft in the cloth that revealed where her slit lay underneath, she let out a cry like a shriek of pain and pushed her hips up to meet his hand.

Enough was enough. Daryl pulled off her panties and this time spread not just her legs but her pussy, too.

Doubt hit him like a sledgehammer. He was wise enough to know the porno he'd seen probably wasn't a true reflection of what women wanted from sex. He'd read some stuff and he knew what he was looking at but now the teasing had stopped and the serious business of making a woman come was at hand, he almost felt paralysed. Performance anxiety! Most guys got that when it came to the fucking but that part didn't bother him at all. He just so wanted to make Carol come. _Aw, well,_ he thought,_ I suppose I better just be gentle and listen to her and try to enjoy myself as much as I can while I'm at it._

He studied her pussy as he held it open. At the top, her clitoris sat like a tiny pink pearl. It didn't look large or swollen up yet so he supposed he'd have to do something about that. Her inner labia were dark rose in colour and slightly larger than ones he'd seen before. He wondered if he was meant to suck them or just work around them. Below that, a soft slit showed the entrance to her vagina and beneath that was her gooch, surprisingly bulgy. He felt a little disappointed that she didn't look at all wet yet. He ran two fingers along her slit then pushed them experimentally just inside. Immediately, he felt wetness gush over his fingers as if a tidal wave had been waiting for someone brave enough to unlock the dam. Carol moaned and Daryl looked down to see slick juice silvering his fingers. Something snapped inside him and he shoved his fingers into his mouth, closing his eyes as he tasted her, pushing them up to the roof of his mouth so he could savour it like a gourmet. Then he grabbed her thighs in both hands and mashed his face, tongue-first, against her pussy.

He lost himself. He was licking her pussy all the way along from the bottom of her slit to the tip of her clitoris, sucking that clit, sucking on her labia, too. He was pushing his tongue as deep inside her as he could and flicking it up to hit her G-spot while two of his fingers passed over and over her clitoris. Then he was doing the opposite, tongue circling and flicking over her clit while his fingers plunged in hard then flickered at the sensitive entrance. She told him of her pleasure with her cries and her movements, wriggling like some poor animal caught in a trap. Every now and then, her fingers tangled themselves in his hair and pulled him harder against her. That was how he figured out when she needed more pressure. He would up the ante and she would reward him with another flood of sticky juice to cover his face.

Daryl was dizzy, his jaws aching, his head singing. A phrase kept going through his mind, _I'm licking your cunt, Carol._ He knew he could not use that word in front of her – at least, not yet. But in his head, he was telling her, _I'm tasting your cunt, Carol, your cunt juice is all over my face. Mm, tastes good! I want you to come against my mouth. Look, see me licking your cunt. I'm licking your cunt, Carol, I'm licking your __**cunt**__!_

She was clenching her buttocks now, pushing her quivering pelvis up towards him just as he'd seen her do in the cabin. She was holding her breath for several seconds at a time and there was no doubt in his mind she was heading for orgasm. He quickly clamped his mouth over her clit and began to suckle as hard as he could while the fingers of his right hand pounded and vibrated the first few inches of her slit. Seeing her white torso beyond the mound of her pubic bone, he instinctively reached up and grasped one of her nipples, pinching it cruelly. A second later and her pussy was bucking against his mouth, her clit a hard, hot nut on his tongue. The walls of her pussy spasmed around his fingers, each spasm long and quivering. Juice was running out of her in a torrent, and her cries were deep and muscular.

Elation exploded across Daryl's mind as his exhausted face sank against her thigh, his fingers still playing lightly across her pussy as she came down. His erection was pressing demandingly against his pants, his whole lower body wound up for action though his upper body was quaking with spent energy. He wiped his face on the bed sheet then sat up and spent some time contemplating Carol's lean naked form which was entirely covered in a light sheen of perspiration. Her eyes were closed and she was smiling. She brought her thighs up and squeezed them together, savouring, he supposed, lingering tingles. He took another corner of the bed sheet and dabbed at the sweat on her chest and neck, and when she opened her eyes, he kissed her. As their eyes met, she nodded, telling him he had done the right thing after all. Her gaze drifted down to the crotch of his trousers and the unfinished business that lay there. She lifted a languorous hand and let the back slide over the bulge.

Daryl climbed back on top of her, his legs sliding easily in between hers. Then he stopped and did what he considered to be the next right thing. "Uh – do you wanna be on top?" he asked.

"No," said Carol.

"Okay," he said and moved forwards to kiss her.

"I'd like a drink of water, though," she said, making a move to get up.

"Naw, wait there, I'll go get it for ya."

He came back with two glasses – he hadn't realised how thirsty he was himself. He found Carol had placed the sheet over herself and when she sat up to take her glass, she pulled the sheet up, too, to drape demurely over her breasts. Daryl hid his amused smile with the water glass. As they drank, their eyes met over their glasses and both pairs began to crinkle at the corners. They chuckled throatily into their glasses over their own naughtiness. A thump, a crash and a laugh in the distance told them Shane and Andrea had taken their naughtiness out into the corridor. They were sounds he would've found intrusive half an hour ago but now they made him feel almost affectionate.

Suddenly, Daryl shot his woman a sideways glance, serious but still smiling. "Carol, I'm gonna ask you somethin'. Before this whole thing between us began, did you ever think about me in that way? You know - about the possibility of us gettin' romantic together and, like, whisperin' my name?"

She pursed her lips, looking for all the world as if she were clamming up for good. In fact, she did the exact opposite. "Yes," she said.

Slowly, he put down the glass of water and began to strip as he stood by the bed. Very quietly, Carol lay back against the headboard and watched. The younger man undid every button of his white shirt, pulled it out of the waistband of his pants and made to pull it off his shoulders but found he couldn't. Those fucking cufflinks! He stopped with the shirtsleeves around his elbows, feeling curiously vulnerable as he fiddled with the unfamiliar accessories. He was very aware of Carol's eyes on his chest as he fumbled. At last, they were off and he quickly removed his pants and socks. Lastly, he took a little longer to slide off his briefs, pulling his erection out as he did so, feeling in equal parts shy and proud. He knew Carol had seen it before but not like this, not standing up above her, the exclamation mark at the end of the sentence, _I am going to fuck you!_

Her mouth was trembling with trepidation but still she reached forwards and kissed the head with her trusting eyes closed. He climbed on top of her again and pulled the sheet away so there was nothing now between their naked bodies. Skin lay against more damp, pulsing skin. Carol whimpered as she felt the hard prong nudge against her thigh so Daryl kissed her some more and kept on kissing her as he grasped his erection and guided it into place. He hoped that giving her an orgasm first had done what he'd intended it to do – moistened her, relaxed her muscles deep inside. He had no idea if he was bigger than Ed had been. He wasn't huge just "a good size" – that was how he thought of himself. A touch above average length – a touch above average girth. A good, meaty handful – gently stretching for a pussy; somewhat of a challenge for a mouth, heh heh.

He pushed forwards, felt the head pass the ring of muscles and suddenly he was completely buried inside her wetness. Surprised by the intensity of the feeling, he gasped and his head dropped forwards, mouth on her neck.

Carol cried out, her fingertips digging into his sides. He could feel her clenching around him and not in a good way. Pushing himself up onto his elbows, he held her tense face in his hands and made her look at him. "Hey," he said, "it's just me. It's just Daryl with you here, making love to you. It's just me." She was chewing on her bottom lip, looking at him with tear-filled eyes but as he began to rain tiny kisses on her cheeks, her forehead, her nose, her chin, the tears were released and fell away. He caught as many as he could between his lips then tasted her growing smile. Slowly, he began to move, monitoring her body language as he did so, sometimes hovering above her, sometimes brushing her cheek with his. Gradually, he felt her begin to respond. She sighed in time with his thrusts and pushed her pussy up to meet him. Her lithe body felt good in his arms and he reached down to pull her thigh up so her leg could wrap around his waist. That also got it into a good position for him to stroke it, too. Enjoying the increasingly luscious rhythm, Daryl let his head sink onto her right shoulder for a moment and he glimpsed their reflection in the mirror again. Instantaneously, his excitement rose a hundred fold and he felt an overwhelming desire to see himself nail her hard to the bed. Instead, he grasped her chin and turned her head so it faced in the same direction as his. Now she could watch him fucking her, fucking her…

Did they really make such an odd couple? The two athletic bodies strained against each other like Olympic athletes. Carol seemed fixated on the movement of their hips, on the motion of Daryl's pelvis crashing against hers. She turned back to the real thing, looking down between their bodies to the flexing muscles of his stomach. His cock was not visible – only the thatch of light brown hair above it and the relentless movement of his hips, each time thrusting as if parting her legs and entering her for the very first time. His face, still watching their reflection diligently, was beginning to grimace, his eyes squeezing shut and his mouth working soundlessly. Sweat dripped from his forehead and landed on her chest. He was moving towards his orgasm fast. Carol reached up and pulled him down so he could lie upon her and thrust away mindlessly like the virginal boy he in some ways still was. His cries became high-pitched, his thrusts faster and more shallow. He thought he could feel every inch of this woman against him, surrounding him and he was fucking right into her centre. With a rushing, explosive feeling, he pushed in as far as he could go as the semen shot out of him, bursting against her cervix like a pagan baptism. He collapsed on top of her, face entirely buried in her neck, his lungs roaring for air. Carol stroked his hair, the back of his neck, his shoulders, comforting him, praising him, thanking him.

After a minute or so, Daryl pushed himself up onto his elbows again and stared at her seriously. "Are you okay?" he asked.

Carol laughed, her happiness an angelic radiance in her face.

Daryl smiled, too, feeling happy and just a little sheepish, and embraced her. Then he slid out of her and lay on his side next to her. It wasn't long before Carol did the logical thing and turned to lay her face against his chest. His arms came around and held her tight, the tall and stately woman become petite in his masculine embrace.

They both slept.


	4. The Secret

**The Secret**

In the distance, the motel's front door clicked. That meant Daryl and Shane were back from their late night prowl around the perimeter. Carol sat up eagerly and adjusted the straps of her cotton slip so it both covered her and clung to her breasts a little suggestively. Low voices rumbled for a few moments outside the door then Shane's footsteps disappeared down the corridor. Daryl came back into the bedroom, crossbow first. He looked like the old, familiar Daryl in his sleeveless grey shirt and serious expression. Then he caught Carol's eye and smiled. "Nothin'," he said. "Not one thing. It's like there's been an apocalypse for zombies out there."

"Good," she said and patted the mattress beside her.

He put down his crossbow carefully then flung himself carelessly onto the bed, all dynamism and readiness.

"Daryl – your boots!" she cried.

He snorted then pulled off his filthy boots in a couple of yanks. "Okay, Ma," he joked.

"Don't say that!" she snapped, turning away and stroking her neck.

"Whut?" He flicked an eyebrow. "You can't be more'n a few years older'n me anyways."

"A few years and then a few more."

"So whut?" he said, kissing her upper arm flirtatiously. "If it don't matter to me and it don't matter to you, whut's it matter to anyone else?"

She looked down at him and saw him lying on his left side, propped up on one elbow, eyes glowering up at her benignly. He was a fully mature man in his late thirties with the body to prove it but there was still something of the little boy about him and probably always would be. When he was seventy, he'd be able to twitch that shy mouth, run a hand through his mussed up grey hair and make women want to mother him.

He kissed her arm again, more lingeringly this time. "We both got plenty of time ahead of us. Including right now." He shifted up so he was sitting behind her and began to kiss the back of her neck. "Plenty of time to discover each other's secrets. I wanna know whut brings you pleasure."

She laughed softly and shrugged one shoulder. "I think you've already discovered that!"

Warming to his probing, he began to run his hands up and down the outside of her arms – a strong, massaging touch. "I wanna learn how to touch you to send you into ecstasies. I want you to show me how to touch you –" resting his chin on her shoulder, he pushed his hands down between her legs, tickling her over her panties "- the way you touch yourself."

"What do you mean?"

He was smirking as he continued his pussy diddling. "Oh, I think you know."

Carol stiffened. "Not every woman does that, Daryl."

"But some women do. Sensuous, beautiful women who love pleasure, givin' and receivin'." His fingers found the little lump in the cotton where her clitoris lay and scratched over it rapidly. His tongue slipped out and wetted his upper lip as he stared relentlessly at the side of her face. "Oooh, now don't that feel good?"

"Well, I don't do that. I don't like it. And I don't need to, honey, I got you." She leant back against his chest, attempting to distract him.

Daryl's hands froze between her legs. "So, you're tellin' me you don't touch yourself."

"That's right."

He didn't respond.

Sensing his tension, Carol sat forwards. "It's just one of those things, Daryl. It's not me. You just have to accept it."

He jumped off the bed, and paced up and down like a tiger in a zoo. Eventually, he turned to her with a piercing glance. "Carol – why are you lyin' to me?"

"I'm not!" she cried over-vehemently.

"Yes, you fuckin' are."

"There's no need to swear."

"Yes, there fuckin' is. It's the real me. I swear. Daryl Dixon fuckin' swears. Whut do you want, some fancified, dressed up version of me or the real me? I've laid myself bare for you, woman – can't you do the same for me?"

Carol slapped her hands on the bed, her passion flaring. "I'm not lying!" she yelled.

"Well, I _know_ you are! Carol – I saw you. In the cabin. In the woods. I saw you touchin' yourself."

He'd overstepped the mark. She stared at him open-mouthed then her whole face closed down, and she jumped off the bed and ran straight for the bathroom. The door slammed behind her.

"Carol, come on, don't do this," he shouted through the door. "Aw, I'm sorry if I embarrassed you, girl, I just want you to be real with me." He could hear her crying through the wood.

"You don't understand what it's like!" came her high-pitched wail. "You don't understand the shame!"

"Damn it, girl, there ain't nothin' to be ashamed of. Christ, I jack off jus' about every day."

"It's not the same."

"Carol – it is."

The bathroom door flew open unexpectedly and she appeared, eyes wild, hands gesturing violently. "You don't understand, you can't understand, Ed would've killed me if he'd seen me. My God, he did catch me once. Called me a whore. Put his hands around my neck…" Her eyes rolled as she watched the horror of her past play out before her mind's eye. She looked fit to faint.

"He did whut?" Daryl's fist flashed out and he punched the bathroom door, hitting both the imaginary Ed and an imaginary Merle in the face. Then he grabbed Carol and pulled her into his arms, hugging her fiercely. She gave herself up utterly to his supporting embrace, sobbing against his chest.

For a long time, they stood like that, Carol's hands clutching his T-shirt as she quivered, letting everything out while Daryl took her pain, absorbing it and neutralising it as his hand ran up and down her back. Finally, he said, "That will never, ever happen with me. I want you to be happy so I gotta love anythin' that brings you pleasure."

She sniffed and glanced up at him with an expression behind the tears that was hard to read. Was it – playful? "Even my vibrator?"

He stuttered, momentarily lost for words. Then they both laughed. "Even that," he said. Then he took her hand and led her back to bed.

* * *

The red-hot, sudsy water beckoned again. Carol plunged her hands into the washing-up basin – really an old enamel bath – the lack of rubber gloves meaning the skin of her hands instantly turned to fire and felt as if it were about to slough off. Hygiene had to be maintained, however, and if the only hot water they had came straight from the kettle, so be it. She began to scrub the plates. A moment later, someone entered the tent behind her and before she had a chance to look over her shoulder, the sound of the tent flap being zipped up let her know exactly who it was.

He moved up behind her, sliding against her back like a cat. "Gotcha!" he said in her ear.

"Daryl – anyone could walk in."

"So?"

She sighed in rather forced exasperation then brought a hand out of the water and stroked his bristly cheek with a soapy finger.

"Jesus, woman, look at your hand! It's bright red. If you keep on doin' this, you're gonna damage your hands permanently."

"Well, we better get some gloves next time we go scavenging."

"Let me take over for a while." He nudged her out of the way and put his own hands into the water, trying not to wince as he did so.

Carol picked up a tea towel. "I suppose it also gives us an excuse for why you're in here."

He shook his head.

"In fact – Daryl Dixon doing the washing-up. That really _will_ give them something to talk about!"

"Hell, woman, who do you think did the washing-up when I was back home? We all had our chores."

She went quiet and he knew she was giving him that affectionate, motherly look again, the one that pleased and irritated him simultaneously. Time to puncture that shit! "Anyways, it'll give 'em somethin' else to talk about besides me eatin' raw squirrel or screwin' walkers or whutever it is they think I get up to in the woods."

"Daryl!"

The corner of his mouth twitched. "I gotta tell you, those walkers is a challenge when it comes to sex. They got orifices where they shouldna and it's such a pisser when you come inside 'em and their heads fall off."

"Ew, ew, ew!" She hit him on the arm with her tea towel.

Delighted by her reaction and his own badness, he caught her round the waist and planted a full-on kiss on her mouth. She sank into it and they stood there for several minutes as if nothing else in the world existed except for lips and tongues. Then they heard the sound of hands fumbling with the tent zip and Daryl immediately plunged his hands back into the water while Carol pressed her back against the side of the tent, making haste to hide the two sudsy handprints that decorated her behind.

* * *

Later that evening, both Daryl and Carol had just managed to avoid Shane and Andrea's respective attempts to herd them to one side and initiate the "So – Carol" or "So – Daryl" conversation. They were all seated around the campfire enjoying the spoils of their scavenging trip – tuna pasta with chocolate cookies for afters! – and Dale was telling the group a story about when his RV stalled on a pass in the Appalachians and began to roll backwards down the mountain. A whole family of "hillbillies" had come rushing out of a nearby farm and helped him push the RV back up onto level ground. Dale and his wife had spent the evening eating at the family's farm, even though he found them "scarier than a bunch of trick or treating walkers on Hallowe'en". Daryl found himself smiling at that but Carol shook her head. "You've seen way too many films, Dale," she scolded.

The air was growing cool. Carol shivered a little. Daryl noticed straight away and had to control the urge to take off his shirt and put it round her shoulders. Lori had taken charge of the condiments and was offering the pepper round to everyone in the group. When she got to Daryl, she froze, staring at him in an uncomprehend-ing fashion, then turned away with a quick flick of the eyebrow. _Whut the fuck?_ he thought. Then he realised Dale was staring at him, too, with a joyful smile plastered across his benevolent, bearded face. That's when he realised what he was doing and looked down his right side at exactly the same moment that Carol looked down her left.

They were holding hands.

**THE END**

**A big "thank you" goes out to all those people who reviewed, favourited or followed this story. It means a lot to a newbie like me. It's also been fascinating for me to discover how much I enjoyed writing a romantic story - me, romantic, who would've thought it!**

**Next on the agenda is catching up on reading everyone else's stories and writing a bit of Buffy femslash 'cause there just ain't enough of it around.**

**xxx**


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